‘You’re not my type,’ I say, and he laughs, though he doesn’t stop or look back.
‘I’m every woman’s type.’
My face twists. I can’t argue with that. Even now, as I pathetically chase him down the street to argue my immunity to him, there are women at every turn staring at him. ‘Not mine,’ I say, if only to win back some dignity.
‘Okay. Not yours.’ He takes a sip of his coffee, smiling around the cup.
Oh my God, he’s infuriating. ‘Don’t walk away from me.’ I grab his arm, pulling him to a halt. The feel of him renders me stupid for a moment, and I’m catapulted back to yesterday when he saved me from my fall and caged me in his arms.
I release my hold of him like he’s caught fire, an electric shock piercing my heart. Oh my God. He turns slowly, revealing a face framed with high, surprised eyebrows. Did he feel that? He looks down at his arm, studying the spot I just touched, before looking back at me. I drop my stare to the ground, like I can hide from him or something. I can’t hold our eye contact any more. I feel like he’s reading my mind. The aftermath of our contact is still burning me. I realise these are inappropriate thoughts, given the man is a perfect stranger, but it’s impossible to think clearly when he’s so close. Lord, I bet he’s an animal in bed. Everything tells me so. The powerful legs, strong arms, tall physique. He works out, and I bet he gives many women a good workout from time to time, too. And he’s confident. Definitely too confident. The fact that I’m thinking all of this – and not the mystery of him appearing out of nowhere on three occasions – should be worrying. I may have been kept captive in my hometown by guilt for my adult life, but I know a bad boy when I see one. This man has womaniser written all over his gorgeous face. In thick, black marker.
My gaze is rooted to his thighs, my teeth nibbling on the inside of my mouth as I let my mind wander to dangerous places. And then I’m frowning when I consider that I assume them to be dangerous places. Why not wild and exciting? I laugh on the inside, damning my suppressed life. I definitely do not need dangerous. But maybe I do need fun.
My eyes find his again. He’s watching me closely. Very closely. And his cheeky smile is nowhere to be seen. It gives me a few moments to consider my previous thought.
Dangerous.
‘What are you staring at?’ I ask, shifting under his heavy stare.
‘I’m thinking I might change my habits and take a stalker out for dinner after all.’
I laugh again, and this time it’s genuine. ‘You are the cockiest man I’ve ever met.’
‘And you have the most beautiful red hair I’ve ever seen.’ He reaches for my hair and plays with a lock while I remain still, my breathing going to shit. His eyes flick to mine. ‘We’re obviously a match made in heaven.’
‘Behave.’ I flick his hand away, feeling my cheeks heat and my mind go off on a tangent, wondering about his bedroom skills once again. Shit, I’m deprived. ‘I need to go.’ I smile sweetly. ‘I’d say it was a pleasure, but—’
‘You wouldn’t know.’ He winks. ‘But if you ever want to find out . . .’
‘I really don’t.’ It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Shouldn’t we shake hands?’ He tosses his coffee cup in a nearby bin and extends his arm, and I eye it with caution, trying to brace myself to make contact. It takes way more mental preparation than it should.
I place my hand in his and immediately feel fire blazing through my veins. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Wasn’t it just,’ he says, his face straight.
I snatch my hand back and scoot past him, my movement rushed and clumsy, causing me to knock his arm.
More fire. Fuck, welcome to London indeed. I breathe in deeply, fighting to compose myself.
I’m not sure what happens next.
I’m moving too fast to comprehend it. ‘Oh.’ I blink repeatedly as my back is pushed into something rough.
A brick wall.
And something hard pressed against my front.
A body.
His body.
My breathing has accelerated to breathy gasps. His face is close to mine. Nose to nose. I’m tense, rigid, nailed to the wall behind me, his palms flat against it on either side of my head. His eyes are roaming my entire face, and I push myself back against the bricks in a vain attempt to escape the heat of his body.
But he moves in closer, not holding me against my will, but making it pretty impossible for me to escape. My heart is thundering so hard, he must feel it. But it’s not fright that’s the cause of my immobility or heaving chest. It’s something else – something I’m not particularly comfortable with. ‘What are you doing?’ I whisper. I’ve never felt lust so strong or bold, and it’s knocking all sense from me.